


Passage

by KarkaHatchlings



Series: Guild Wars 2 Interstitial [9]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game), Guild Wars Series (Video Games)
Genre: Adventure, Conversations, Dimension Travel, Duelling, Fluff, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 11:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15266310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarkaHatchlings/pseuds/KarkaHatchlings
Summary: A band of guildmates pass through the Heart of the Mists.





	Passage

A permanent purple twilight, darker in shade than the pink-tinged vortices of the gate behind them, smothered the fragment of land.  Ruins leaned overhead, casting only shallow shadows in the indistinct illumination. Devoid of the sounds of natural life, the vista felt strangely hushed despite the crowds.  As with any other place they were gathered near the gates out of convenience, but knots could be seen more distant, grouped for purposes obvious or obscure.

Pausing on the gate's ramp, Hale took in the sight with avid eyes.  There were people from all over Tyria visible, though that wasn't too strange a sight for someone used to the melange of Lion's Arch.  It was more the outlandish appearances that some seemed to cultivate: varicolored hair, impractical armor even within the bounds of magical reinforcement, and faces that strained at the boundaries of nature.  "Are they all...?" he asked quietly. The others were still within earshot, Balrit watching him with a bushy eyebrow raised and Pleek somewhat ahead, tapping one broad foot impatiently.

"Real?" supplied the charr with a rumble in the back of his throat, "most of them.  You'll find a few where the distinction is a little blurry."

"What does that mean?" pressed the younger human, taking a few deliberate steps down the ramp and onto the crumbling cobblestones beyond.  It felt solid enough under his feet, though he only had to look around to see that the whole island was floating in the nothingness of the Mists.  A small cluster of men, their slack-lipped faces identical and staring, turned to regard him with arrogant self-assurance.

"It means," the asura turned when Hale started walking, her head down and brow furrowed, trusting people to get out of her way as she pushed through, "the properties of this place make sure everyone's roughly the same.  Ability, equipment, everything. I'm sure you noticed how you're not in your armor." He hadn't, though now it was obvious just in how he moved. Looking down, he was confronted by a simple suit of mail, the tabard shining with a hazy recreation of their shared guild's emblem.  

"How does...?" the young man's second incomplete question made the charr shake with laughter.

"Your Balthazar used to sponsor these fights, and I suppose he liked fair contests," Balrit's tone implied he thought that a foolish prospect, "he's cleared out now, but people do love to kill each other, so they hardly need the divine around for that."  He winked down at Hale at the mention of the departure of the gods from worldly affairs.

"And if you mean the tabard," Pleek kept pushing ahead, making for a gate a short distance opposite the one they'd come from, "the Mists know your allegiance.  Or rather, you know it and the Mists reflect it. Can't fight without a side, after all. The whole thing is probably only a manifestation of what armor represents in the first place."  She plucked at the cloth over her breastplate, then dropped her hand to her side with obvious effort. The stylized road passing over water displayed by her own gear was distinct and bright.

"So, wait," Hale had paused to watch some charr practicing against golems in the hazy distance.  It had seemed for a moment as if he wanted to go try it out himself, but the mention of killing had drawn his attention.  "You can get killed in here?" Balrit grunted in exasperated displeasure that the human had been oblivious to most of his performance.

"Sort of," the asura stopped as well, eyeing the golem with professional interest, "it looks like it hurts, that's for sure.  But the battles aren't real, and people seem to just wake up to fight again. As for me finding out personally? Not likely."

"Come now, my little asura," the charr taunted, "I know you partook in your misspent youth."

Her large hazel eyes narrowed.  Here, she seemed to wear no helmet, only a circlet barely containing her messy braids.  "It was for historical study," she said, her voice edging on a snarl, "of important battles.  Not for fun like some other people might."

"It is fun," agreed Balrit with equanimous relish.  He rubbed paws together, eyes cast down in theatrical reminiscence as he turned and paced.  "Testing yourself against a foe, finding them wanting, driving them to the ground, and standing above them to mark their fall with your banner."  An almost lascivious chuckle caressed the torrent of words.

"Of course, it's an enticing life," he continued, showing Hale teeth like a graveyard full of leaning stones, "nothing but fighting, feeling better than you might out in reality, never having to worry about your gear...  This place is populated with dead-eyed Balthazarites living for the next duel."

“No,” he whirled to face his tiny audience, robes fanning out around him.  His garb here was almost as colorful as it was outside the Mists, unlike the distinctly prosaic design and decor of Hale or Pleek’s.  “No, it’s best not to be lured by the enticements of this little game. We came this route for a quick and inexpensive passage to Lion’s Arch, and we’ll continue on, but don’t imagine such a path is without its dangerous temptations.”

Balrit paused, his chin lifted and gaze distant like a heroically posed monument, but he watched the human and asura from the corner of his eye.  Pleek seemed determined not to give him the satisfaction of noticing, looking away deliberately, thin lips pursed and arms folded. The charr’s muzzle wrinkled in a smile; that was response enough for him.  He looked crestfallen immediately after, however: Hale was peering off at something else entirely, truly having missed the show.

“As I was saying,” Pleek muttered, glancing from human to charr, “everyone’s roughly the same here, except in...”  One claw tapped her temple and she gave a contemptuous flick of her ears before making for the gate marked by a tall lion standard once more.

She had a head start, but even at her brisk waddle it was only a few steps for Hale to catch up.  “Why did we need to come through here anyway? We could’ve headed west out to the Sound and then made our way to the gate in Hoelbrak.”

“We don’t have time to muck around in the snow looking for treasure for you,” the human’s guilty expression confirmed her guess at his motives for the alternate route.

“Then why are we in a such a hurry?” Balrit asked, voice the equivalent of a naked leer.  His even longer strides brought him ahead of the others.

The charr let Pleek’s hesitation in answering pass without comment, merely grinning to himself.  “Well, it must be important if Charter called us together,” she finally said, then cleared her throat self-consciously.  “Come on.” A few quicker steps and a short hop and she vanished through the asura gate, not waiting to see Balrit crook a finger mockingly.

Hale lingered on the threshold, not quite ready to step through.  The clangor of metal on metal drifted through the still air from somewhere along with the whisper of distant battle cries and death screams.  Seeing Hale’s head turned to look at the Heart of the Mists, Balrit put a paw on the human’s shoulder to gently turn his body in the same direction.  The charr’s claws left bright, tiny grooves in the pauldron. “If you’re interested,” crooned the charr, voice conspiratorial and low, “it’s not difficult to get started.”

Eyes dancing across the milling crowd again, Hale almost visibly wavered, it was hard not to consider seriously.  Half of the people looked like freaks or buffoons to him: as far as a gallery of potential foes went, it didn’t seem very intimidating.  “So,” he asked slowly, rubbing his cleft chin, “what does a person get out of it?”

Circling, the charr rumbled a mocking, predatory laugh.  "Fury and blood, Hale, fury and blood." His slow circuit of the younger man completed, his whiskered chin dipped in a sardonic nod of regard.  “Give it some thought.” With that, he stepped through the gate, leaving the other standing alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in /gw2g/.
> 
> Events referenced here correspond to in-game events: utilizing the Heart of the Mists in order to avoid waypoint fees on travel to Lion's Arch. At the time this was written, overworld and Heart of the Mists cosmetic gear was divided.


End file.
